


Overdue

by FriendofCarlotta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Callous Treatment of Library Books, Dean Winchester Loves Books, Editor Castiel, Librarian Dean Winchester, M/M, Porn With Plot, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Semi-Public Sex, because that's canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25595557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendofCarlotta/pseuds/FriendofCarlotta
Summary: An angry librarian named Dean Winchester knocks on Castiel's door one morning. Apparently, Castiel has had a book checked out for fifteen years. When Castiel finds himself on his knees in front of Dean (by complete accident, of course), he remembers why Dean looks so familiar. And why he didn't think he could ever show his face at that particular library again.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 70
Kudos: 309





	Overdue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oriana1990](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oriana1990/gifts).



> This bit of humorous smut is based on a prompt posted to the Profound Bond Discord server ([Join us! Join us!](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)) by [oriana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oriana1990/pseuds/Oriana1990). Hope you like where I went with this! :)
> 
> A big thank you to [tiamatv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiamatv/pseuds/tiamatv), who is an awesome beta and cheerleader. She also writes great fic that you should be reading!
> 
> No library books were harmed in the writing of this fic.

Castiel has an unfortunate habit of forgetting things. 

They aren’t the kinds of things that would make him a complete failure at being a functioning adult. He’s never forgotten to file his taxes, for example, or to put in his hours at work.

He  _ does  _ sometimes forget the PIN on his debit card and has to retreat, cursing, from the ATM. He forgets to turn off the burner on an empty pot and has to live with the acrid smell of singed metal for the rest of the day. Once, he forgot that he’d promised to water his neighbor’s flowers. The flowers eventually recovered, but his relationship with his neighbor never did.

Castiel has tried to do better over the years, but he’s come to expect that, every once in a while, his forgetfulness will get him in trouble.

What he doesn’t expect is that his forgetfulness will also bring Dean Winchester into his life.

The day it happens starts much like any other. As a freelance editor who works from home, Castiel makes his own hours. So he rolls out of bed at about nine thirty, has the first of many cups of coffee, and putters around in his bathrobe until the first jolt of caffeine kicks in. He heads to his home office, where he boots up his computer to see what manuscripts need his attention today. Some days, his inbox is full of dense, jargon-y journal articles. Others, he gets only a couple of short blurbs for a calendar or catalogue. Occasionally, there’s nothing. Such is the nature of freelance work.

Castiel is just getting settled, cradling his second cup of coffee and staring blearily at an instruction manual that refuses to arrange itself into any semblance of sense — probably a Google Translate job from Chinese, Castiel thinks, the beginnings of a headache edging in through his temples — when an emphatic knock sounds at his front door.

Castiel’s initial response is confusion. He’s managed to make a few friends in his fifteen years living in this city, but none of them tend to just drop by unannounced. His brother Gabe does sometimes, but Gabe’s last visit only ended a few days ago.

Which means whoever is at the door now is probably some kind of solicitor and will go away if no one answers.

Castiel has just finished convincing himself of this and turned his attention back to the impenetrable manual when a second knock sounds through the house — if anything, louder and more emphatic than the first.

With a world-weary sigh, Castiel rises from his desk chair and trudges down the hall to the front door, taking care to step over or around the assorted piles of books and magazines that litter the floor. He’s no more than a few steps away when the knock sounds again, so loud this time that he almost spills the half-full mug of coffee he’s still clutching.

He scowls in preparation for the stern speech he’s planning to deliver to the annoying, pushy person outside. Setting down his mug on the nearest available surface, he stalks to the door, wrenching it open.

On the other side, arms crossed, foot tapping and matching him glare for glare, is the most handsome man Castiel has ever seen.

Castiel is halfway through a sentence along the lines of “What the hell do you think—” when he notices the other man’s annoyance giving way to embarrassment, but also something that looks suspiciously like… interest.

Which is when Castiel notices that his bathrobe is hanging open, exposing his bare chest and legs. He silently thanks whichever gods are listening that at least he didn’t forget to put on underwear this morning.

By the time Castiel has managed to gather his robe around himself and tie it closed, the man outside has composed his face back into a mask of aggravation. It suits him, Castiel decides. Green eyes are narrowed in irritation, plump lips pursed. The man’s crossed arms do an excellent job of showcasing his broad shoulders and slim waist. His challenging stance shows off a pair of charmingly bowed legs.

As Castiel takes in this agreeable view, something snags at his memory. The man looks familiar, but he can’t place him.

“Are you Castiel Novak?” The stranger’s voice is gruff, but pleasantly deep.

“Yes,” Castiel admits. “Who are you?”

“Dean Winchester. I work at the library. Our records show you have a book checked out that is fifteen years overdue.”

“You’re here to… collect library fines?” Castiel asks hesitantly, trying to put the pieces together.

Dean shuffles his feet into a slightly less aggressive stance, but his arms remain defiantly crossed. “Well… we actually did a fine-forgiveness thing a while back, so you don’t owe that much. But someone requested a book that was in our system and apparently it’s been at  _ your  _ house since 2005.” Dean is warming to his subject now, uncrossing his arms to point an accusing finger at Castiel. “We had to order another copy, and with our budget being as tight as it is, it’s fucking ridiculous we have to spend money on a book we should already have, but that _ your _ lazy ass can’t be bothered to return.” Dean takes a deep breath and blows it out, looking marginally calmer.

Castiel tries to hide his amusement by asking, with supreme dignity and a single raised eyebrow, “Do you talk to all library patrons like this?”

“Only the ones who had it coming,” Dean growls, but Castiel could swear his lips are twitching. Something contemplative passes across Dean’s face, and he frowns at Castiel. “Have we met? Just, you look familiar, somehow.”

“I’m not sure.” Castiel pauses as something occurs to him. “Wait, is that a pickup line?”

Dean shrugs, grinning now. “You really do look familiar, but sure, it could be, if you wanted it to be.”

Castiel can feel himself blushing, which is ridiculous. He  _ never  _ blushes.  _ Maybe that’s because you hardly ever leave the house _ , a traitorous voice in the back of his head reminds him. In response, something daring and defiant uncurls in his chest.

“Would you like to come in?” Castiel gestures at the living room, and is immediately embarrassed when his eyes fall on the pile of laundry he was going to fold, which takes up roughly half the couch. Also, the precarious stack of books on his coffee table that the faintest breeze could probably topple. “Sorry about the mess.”

Dean snorts. “It’s fine.” He steps into the room, looking around. “Nice place though.”

“Thanks,” Castiel murmurs. “Can I offer you anything? I run almost entirely on coffee, so there’s some of that.”

“Sure, coffee sounds good,” Dean says as he sinks onto the side of the couch not covered in (thankfully clean) laundry.

Castiel heads to the kitchen. When he returns, steaming mug in hand, he finds Dean still on the couch, but studying the framed landscape photographs lining Castiel’s walls. “These are great. Did you take them?”

Castiel nods, handing Dean’s mug to him and sinking into an armchair opposite the couch. “Photography is a bit of a hobby of mine.”

“Well, I guess that explains why you’ve got a copy of  _ A Basic Manual of Nature Photography _ lying around.” Dean grins wickedly around the rim of his mug. “Doesn’t explain why you kept it for fifteen years though. If you liked it that much, you could’ve just bought a copy.”

Castiel doesn’t remember ever reading a book by that name, let alone seeing it around the house, but he’s feeling inspired by the teasing glint in Dean’s eyes. “Maybe I was waiting for a handsome bounty-hunter librarian to come collect it,” he says, smiling coyly.

Dean chuckles. “Uh-huh. As a person, I think that’s funny. As a librarian, I’m still really freaking annoyed with you for hogging our property.”

Castiel adopts an expression of mock astonishment. “Are librarians not people? In that case, I may have misjudged what I’m truly up against.”

Dean snorts so hard, some of his coffee spills onto his lap. “Shit.” Dean looks down in dismay at the sizable stain spreading down the front of his jeans.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get something to help you clean up.” Castiel heads for the laundry pile, rooting around until he finds a hand towel.

A sane person would have handed Dean the towel. Evidently, Castiel is not a sane person, because he falls to his knees and starts dabbing at the wet spot on Dean’s pants. (Later, he’ll blame the fact that he never got to finish his second cup of coffee.)

When Castiel realizes what he’s doing, he finds Dean looking down at him through sandy lashes, surprised but  _ definitely _ interested this time. 

Castiel freezes, mortified. He remembers now where he met Dean Winchester before, and he can tell the exact moment Dean remembers too.

Dean’s eyes flash, and he’s grinning from ear to ear. “Holy shit. It’s  _ you _ .”

*** 

_ 15 Years Ago _

Most days, Dean likes his job. Today is not one of those days.

Apparently, there was a power outage in the middle of the night, so his alarm didn’t wake him up like it was supposed to. Then, because he can’t function without coffee even (or especially) when he gets a late start, he had to run with a to-go cup in hand and spilled the damn thing all over himself. Now he’s damp, he smells like coffee,  _ and _ he got a dressing-down from Deanna, the head librarian.

Because that’s not sufficiently embarrassing, Deanna is not only his boss, but also his grandma. (The one he’s named after.) 

The Campbell Memorial Library, established by Dean’s great-grandfather, is basically the family business. Great-grandpa Christian invented a breakable plastic wishbone that became a big hit at Thanksgiving parties for a few years and made him a truly obscene amount of money. He used some of those funds to turn a Greek Revival mansion on Main Street into a public library. Unfortunately, a few years later, the wishbone lost its novelty, and Christian sank the majority of his remaining savings into a bad investment.

In the aftermath of Christian’s bankruptcy, a local nonprofit took over ownership of the library. 

Still, as the years passed, there was usually at least one member of the Campbell family involved in day-to-day operations. First, it was Christian’s brother Mark, then Mark’s son Jacob. Samuel Campbell — Christian’s only son and Dean’s grandfather — was a reluctant and only occasional presence in the stacks. 

But his wife Deanna took to the library with all the passion of a true book lover, and worked her way up to head librarian. Dean’s mom, Mary, used to think she might want that job some day, but when she met a man named John Winchester, she gave up on her dreams of college to start a family. Dean’s parents divorced about five years ago, and Mary took a job in sales to put food on the table. 

After John walked out of his sons’ lives, it felt a lot easier for Dean to admit that he didn’t actually want to be a mechanic like his dad — he just wanted to be around books. So Grandma Deanna took him under her wing and, despite Dean’s repeated protests, helped him pay for a degree in library science from the local college. Now, he’s the one on track to succeed her as head librarian when she retires. (Which still doesn’t make her go any easier on him for showing up to work late and dripping wet.)

After he’s taken his lecture with as much good grace as he can muster, Dean heads to the back to retrieve a spare shirt he keeps there, but his pants are a lost cause. He does the best he can, dabbing at them with some paper towels in the bathroom.

After an hour or so, the spot is completely dry, but the smell of coffee follows Dean wherever he goes that morning. He debates heading home for his lunch break to change his pants, but he’s still getting the stink-eye from Grandma Deanna every once in a while, so he figures he’d better stay put and eat his sandwich.

About twenty minutes into his break, sitting off to the side of the main counter and chewing with his mouth closed to get back on his grandma’s good side, he spots a newcomer.

The guy has just stepped through the heavy oak door, which is propped open to admit the pleasant spring warmth. Now he’s frozen in place, blue eyes wide as they roam the high-ceilinged room, taking in the original hardwood floors, the tall, arched windows and the ten-foot-high shelves arranged in neat rows all the way to the back.

Even from where Dean’s sitting, about twenty feet away, he can appreciate the guy’s plump lips, parted in amazement. Dean takes another bite of his sandwich, trying not to be a creep, but his eyes keep traveling back to the entrance. 

There’s nothing like watching people discover the beauty of the library for the first time, and this guy is more fun to watch than most. He has messy, dark hair, a sharply cut jaw and a slim but solid frame. Even though it’s the weekend, he’s dressed formally, in a button-down shirt and slacks, which is somehow endearing. He looks to be in his early to mid-twenties, so roughly Dean’s own age.

Uncertain and slightly dazed, the guy hovers for another moment, then wanders seemingly at random into one of the aisles to the left of Dean’s desk.

Before Dean is really aware of what he’s doing, he’s packed up his sandwich, and his feet are carrying him toward the aisle where the gorgeous stranger disappeared. He finds the guy running a reverent index finger up and down the spine of a thick tome bound in blood-red leather, and suppresses a shiver at the thought of what that nice, long digit might feel like trailing over his skin instead.

Six feet away, he comes to a stop and hitches on a grin. For good measure, he cocks his head a little and crosses his arms in the way he knows makes his shoulders look extra broad. “Hey, you make love to it, you buy it.”

The guy flinches at being addressed and turns. When his eyes meet Dean’s, he immediately flushes bright red. “I didn’t… I wasn’t… That’s not...” He swallows and glances at the name tag pinned to the front of Dean’s shirt. “You work here?”

Dean jerks his head in agreement, keeping his grin firmly in place. It’s his most charming one — the one that never fails to make panties (and boxers) drop all over town. “First time here?”

“Yes, I…” The guy pulls at his shirtsleeves nervously, rucking them up his forearms a little ways. The result is a newly revealed stretch of tanned skin covered in dark hair and corded with wiry muscles. 

Dean’s tongue shoots out to wet his lips.

“I just moved to town a few weeks ago,” the guy rumbles, and that’s another thing: that’s one  _ hell  _ of a voice he’s got. “I got my first job out of college as a general assignment reporter with the local paper. As the new guy, they give me all the late and weekend shifts. This is the first day off I’ve had in two weeks.” The guy’s eyes widen slightly, like he didn’t mean to say all that, and he rubs at the back of his head, further messing up his already disastrous hair. 

Dean sighs inwardly. Not only is this guy devastatingly handsome, he’s also adorable.

“I apologize,” the walking wet dream says. “I didn’t mean to tell you my life story. I realize it was a yes-or-no question. I just… I’m not the best in social situations.”

Dean steps forward to grip the guy’s shoulder, just a quick, reassuring squeeze before he retreats back into his own space. (OK, so he  _ might _ settle just a little closer than he was before.) “You’re fine, dude. I was just gonna ask if there was anything I could help you find.”

Blue-eyes squints and rubs at his jaw. “Ah, well, I… I’ve recently taken up photography. Do you have any books on that?”

“Sure thing.” Dean winks, and he’s delighted with the small, embarrassed half-smile he gets in response. “I’ll show you the place. Name’s Dean, by the way.”

The guy takes Dean’s outstretched hand and gives it a quick, but solid shake. “Cas.”

A little reluctantly, Dean removes his hand and turns to go, Cas following a couple of steps behind. Once or twice, from the corner of his eyes, Dean could swear he catches Cas checking out his ass. He suppresses a chuckle, and also the small, anticipatory pull in his groin. No use counting chickens before they’re hatched. Or, in this case, no use picturing a hookup with a guy he’s known for all of two minutes. 

The photography books are kept in a sparsely traveled aisle towards the back of the library. When they get there, Dean extends his arm, palm out, in a  _ ta-daaa _ motion at the small brass sign that reads “Visual Arts and Photography.”

Cas smiles and nods his thanks, then turns to examine the shelves. Dean counts silently, telling himself that if Cas doesn’t offer him any overt sign of interest by the time he gets to five, he’ll just make his retreat.

So after a few seconds, Dean gives one last little nod and a smile, the customer-service version this time, and starts walking away.

He’s almost reached the end of the aisle when a quiet rumble reaches his ear. “I, um. I heard this library has an extensive collection of works by LGBT authors?”

_ Jackpot. _

The stakes of this conversation feel a whole lot higher now, and Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets as he pivots back to face the guy. Just in case his hands are going to be dicks about this and start shaking.

“Yeah, um. My mom, Mary, she’s a Campbell by birth. Her best childhood friend died of AIDS back in the early ‘90s. He was close to my Grandma Campbell too, and the two of them started a special collection to honor him.”

Cas nods his understanding, blue eyes fixing Dean with a penetrating look. Emboldened, Dean adds, “Some of those books came in handy for a bisexual kid trying to figure himself out.”

For a small eternity, there’s nothing but silence and heavy, vibrating tension between them.

“Do you think you might like to have dinner some time?” Cas says, at the exact same time as Dean’s “I still have half an hour until the end of my break, if you wanted to... hang out.”

Dean immediately curses himself. He could’ve had a date with this insanely hot guy, but he settled for a hookup. Great.

He’s not at all prepared for the immediate flash of heat in those blue eyes. “Shall I… come find you?” Cas asks, his voice impossibly deeper than before.

Dean feels his breath coming a little faster at the mere thought of getting Cas alone. Fooling around at work is a supremely bad idea, but he’s not nearly as worried about that right now as he should be. And if it’s fun, maybe he could still take Cas up on the offer of a dinner date later.

“Sure. Um… why don’t you take a few minutes to look around? I’ll be in the hallway past the end of the stacks on the left-hand side.”

Cas swallows heavily, then nods, and Dean heads to the back, his skin suddenly prickling with nerves. He knows exactly the right place: a supply closet near the bathrooms. It’s rarely used and it locks. It’s not exactly roomy, but big enough that they shouldn’t be too uncomfortable.

When Dean gets to the hallway, he starts pacing up and down immediately, a heady mix of nerves and excitement making him antsy.

It takes less than five minutes for Cas to make his appearance. He’s clutching a book under one arm. When he spots Dean, his eyes widen and he swallows heavily.

“What book did you end up getting?” Dean croaks.

“I have no idea. I was… distracted.” Cas’ eyes trail up and down Dean’s body in frank appreciation. The awkwardness from earlier is still there in the slight flex of Cas’ fingers and the minute shuffling of his feet. 

But when their eyes meet, there’s confident heat behind the gorgeous blue.

“Where?” Cas asks simply, and Dean is lost. With a last look up and down the hallway, he tears open the door to the supply closet, and Cas follows him inside.

As soon as the door falls closed, Cas’ book clatters to the floor. Usually, Dean would be annoyed at the library’s property being treated so callously, but he’s more focused on the fact that Cas is pushing him against the wall, plump lips colliding with his in a frantic, messy slide.

As kisses go, it’s not the most elegant, but it’s more than effective. By the time Cas licks at the seam of Dean’s lips, the front of Dean’s jeans feels uncomfortably tight.

He opens for Cas’ tongue and is rewarded with a low, rumbling groan. Cas rolls his hips, and Dean can feel a hot, solid length pushing against his thigh.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean grits out, a lot louder than he meant to.

Cas chuckles darkly and brings up one of his hands to cover Dean’s mouth. “Sshhh.” With a cocky smirk, Cas rolls his hips again, pressing impossibly closer until they’re chest to chest, his breath ghosting over Dean’s ear. “I’d like to blow you. May I?”

Dean whimpers into Cas’ hand and pushes forward, looking for more friction, more sensation, more anything. He nods, and Cas’ hand moves off his mouth, replaced by the tip of a thumb running over Dean’s bottom lip.

“Can you keep it down for me?”

Dean exhales heavily, willing himself to calm down so he doesn’t blow his load within the first thirty seconds. “I’ll fucking try.”

Cas hums, amused, and falls to his knees. It’s an awfully attractive picture, blue eyes looking up at Dean from under coal-dark lashes. Dean watches avidly as Cas reaches for his button and zipper, never breaking eye contact. “You smell like coffee,” Cas rumbles. 

Dean chuckles nervously. “Long story.”

Cas hums, accepting this, and returns his focus to the task at hand.

Dean makes a fist and bites down hard on it when he feels a warm hand in his boxers, pulling him out. Then he’s exposed, and Cas dives right in, licking a long stripe up the underside of Dean’s cock.

Dean’s knees almost give out when Cas closes his lips around the tip, swirling his tongue against the sensitive spot just below.

Dean’s eyes fall closed as he sinks one hand into soft, messy hair, pulling ever so slightly. Cas moans around him and takes him deeper, letting the head of Dean’s cock bump and scrape against his palate.

“God, Cas, your mouth. Feel so good,” Dean mumbles around his fist, then bites down again, trying to stifle the string of curses and other obscenities fighting their way up his throat.

A clink of metal pulls Dean’s foggy brain back into sharp focus, especially when it’s replaced by the sound of skin on skin.

Cas is jerking off.  _ Holy fuck. _

A desperate moan escapes Dean, and he barely even cares about being overheard anymore. This is the single hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.

At least until Cas grabs Dean’s hand, still brushing idly through soft, dark hair, and positions it at the back of his head. He catches Dean’s eye, then sinks all the way down Dean’s length and  _ swallows _ .

With a drawn-out groan, Dean pulls back and forward again, fucking into Cas’ mouth with barely controlled thrusts. Cas hums his approval, and the sound of his hand on his cock speeds up.

There’s a tightness in Dean’s groin and his muscles are locking up, hips stuttering as his orgasm crashes into him with unexpected force. He tries to pull away at the last second, but Cas brings up both hands to cup Dean’s ass, tugging him forward, and… Dean’s vision whites out and his jaw goes slack as he releases down Cas’ throat in hot, heavy spurts.

And then the door opens. The door Dean, apparently, forgot to lock.

He blinks frantically, trying to will his foggy vision back into focus. 

A second later, he wishes he hadn’t, because that’s his  _ grandma  _ standing in the doorway, a vision of righteous fury as she takes in her grandson. At his workplace. Getting a blowjob from another dude. Who’s also got his dick out.

Well, he’s never going to live this down.

“Dean!”

The last time he heard Grandma Deanna use that tone with him was when he was eight and broke a priceless vase, roughhousing with Sammy in her living room.

Dean’s so shell-shocked, it takes him a few seconds to remember about Cas. When he finally looks down, it’s to find Cas looking painfully mortified as he struggles to tuck himself away and pull the zipper closed over his still extremely pronounced erection.

By some miracle, Cas manages it eventually. He snatches up the book he dropped and, with a muttered, “Sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” and a vivid blush, he runs for the nearest exit.

*** 

_ The Present _

“Oh, fuck.”

Castiel scrambles to his feet, nearly upsetting the coffee table in his haste to get away from Dean. He collapses backwards into his armchair and runs a shaking hand over his face.

The sound of Dean’s voice, vibrating with barely suppressed laughter, tears him out of what was shaping up to be a fairly impressive freakout.

“Soo… I’m guessing the book I’m here for is the one you ended up grabbing that day. Never got up the nerve to return it, huh?” Dean chuckles, green eyes dancing. “Can’t say I blame you. Grandma Deanna can be a pretty scary lady when she wants to be.”

Castiel stares back at him blankly. “That… she was… your grandmother?”

Dean nods, grinning from ear to ear now.

Castiel exhales and wishes fervently for a shot of whiskey to go with this conversation. “I thought she was your boss. I thought I got you fired. You… you weren’t fired?”

“Nah.” Dean waves a dismissive hand. “I mean, she _ was _ my boss back then. She’s retired now. But I’m the only other member of the family with a degree in library science, so she decided to forgive me eventually.”

Dean bends down to retrieve the towel Castiel dropped on the floor when he made his retreat. He dabs at his jeans another time or two, then gives it up with a shrug. “I gotta tell you though, man, I was kind of bummed you never came back. It was one hell of a blow job.” He leans back into the couch cushions and winks. “Definitely worth being in the dog house for a couple of weeks.”

Castiel feels a smile pulling at his lips. “Yes, well. I didn’t think I could ever show my face there again, so I started going to a different library.”

Dean clicks his tongue. “Shame we lost you to the competition. Why’d you never return the book though? You could’ve put on a cat burglar outfit and snuck it through the book drop after dark.”

Castiel favors Dean with his best glare, which he’s been told is a fairly impressive one. “Very funny. I don’t remember what I did with it, but I didn’t exactly want a reminder of the single most embarrassing day of my life. I probably tossed it in the back of a closet and then just kind of… forgot about it.”

“Single most embarrassing day of  _ your  _ life?” Dean snorts. “My  _ grandma  _ found me with my dick down another guy’s throat.”

“Good point,” Castiel concedes. “But at least _ you _ got to finish.”

Dean goes very still. 

When he hasn’t said anything several seconds later, Castiel starts to worry he’s crossed some sort of line. “I’m sorry, Dean, I—”

That’s as far as he gets before Dean interrupts him. “What if I said I could make it up to you?”

Castiel can practically hear his pulse speeding up. Dean couldn’t possibly be suggesting…?

“Unless you’re seeing someone, I mean.” The words rush out of Dean’s mouth with the speed of nervousness, and there’s a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “In which case, definitely forget I said anything and I’ll just get outta your hair. Screw the book. New copy’s already ordered anyway.”

As Dean gets more and more flustered, Castiel feels a heady mixture of calm and heat settling over him, much like he did fifteen years ago. He smiles. “I think it’s only fair. I’ve owed you a book for fifteen years, but you’ve owed me an orgasm for just as long. I’m obviously the real injured party here.”

Dean’s eyes are dancing, lips turned up in a cocky smirk. He swaggers over to Castiel’s armchair and falls to his knees.

“I’ll give you that one. I say we take care of  _ you _ first, then look around for that book.” He takes hold of Castiel’s thighs, spreading them wide. “And then, how about I take you up on that dinner invitation from back in the day?”

Castiel’s breath speeds up as he watches Dean’s eyes darken. “I’d like that.”

Soon enough, silky warmth envelops Castiel, and he considers that, perhaps, forgetfulness has its perks.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, indulge this needy writer with some comments and kudos! 
> 
> Also, come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://friendofcarlotta.tumblr.com).


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